He always asks, knowing I’ll have a preference. I feel a pang of regret for what I’m about to lose.
‘There’s a place…’
I put my arm through his and we set off down the street. This is what it would be like, I think, being with him. Comfortable and easy. Isn’t that enough?
A short while later we leave the café and retrace our steps. We walk apart, our shoulders brushing at intervals. I ask about his weekend plans. He says to call if I miss him, which I do, often. But I never call.